Faking it with Beck Ryder

The invitation

Nyla’s pov

I tried not to think about the message when I woke up but, of course, it was the first thing on my mind immediately I opened my eyes.

I was so curious. I wanted to know what the program was about so badly.

My phone lay faced up on my bedside stool. I glared at it with my eyes widened, hoping that the next notification I’d get would be from them.

Tessa was still fast asleep. I tried moving quietly so I wouldn’t wake her up, but it was difficult to move around without hitting my foot against something in the cramped room we share.

As I slipped on my gray hoodie, my phone buzzed. I ran to it with immediate effect, even the flash would have been so proud in that moment.

I stared at it for a few seconds as I wiggled my legs.

I finally opened it, and it was not what I was expecting.

Final selection confirmed. Please report to media hall B at 10:00 AM.

That was it. No further explanation.

I stared at my phone a bit longer than I should have, expecting another message to pop in, but nothing came in.

It was as if they had selected us for this, and we couldn’t refuse, which was funny because I couldn’t recall ever agreeing to this. Well, it was media related and that was my forte.

It was 8:45, and I still had enough time to freshen up and catch the train for school.

I walked over to my wardrobe. This was the part I dreaded the most about getting ready for school or any occasion for that matter, especially when I hadn’t selected my outfit the previous day.

I scanned through a bunch of dresses.

“No. Not this,” I said, shaking my head as I shifted a floral bodycon dress aside.

“Too casual,” I grumbled, throwing my black joggers back inside.

“For the love of God, why does this have to be so complicated?” I grumbled. “Being a girl is so not easy.”

I finally settled for my gray suit pants and paired them with a plain black long-sleeved top.

By the time I was ready to leave, Tessa was still sleeping. She always had a habit of sleeping like a dead frog.

I planted a kiss on her forehead like I always do and left.

The air on campus felt light. It was extremely sunny, and I tried to hurry past the hundreds of people walking on campus. I didn’t want to be late.

Five minutes. That was all I had to get to media hall B.

Media B was full by the time I got there. I was actually surprised, both at the fullness of the hall and at how early people got out of bed. I was double surprised.

I’d expected something smaller, but this was way bigger than I thought. It made me more curious.

There were so many cameras around, tripods, lightning rigs and cables that ran across the floor. The whole set up looked like that of those on a movie set. It was as if they were about to have a whole ass production.

This was not what I was expecting. I had expected something smaller with just a few students.

“What is this?” a voice whispered near me.

“No idea,” someone else replied.

I guess they were all as clueless as I was.

I could recognize some people there, but most of them were faces I was seeing for the first time.

“Alright, everyone, if we could get your attention,” a voice echoed through the large speakers.

The room fell silent instantly.

A woman in her late thirties stepped forward from behind the cameras. She looked corporate with her skirt suit and neck scarf.

She looked rich. The kind of rich that said ‘I run this show.’

“Good morning,” she continued, her gaze scanning the entire hall. “My name is Vanessa Cole. I’m the lead producer for this project.”

I knew it. Her appearance gave boss lady energy.

“This program is called Second Chance,” she went on. “It’s a collaborative media initiative. The sole aim of this program is to reshape the image that has been tarnished by public perception.”

Okaaayy. I guess we’re heading somewhere with this. I folded my arms loosely. My interest had been caught.

“You’ve all been selected based on your individual strengths, be it storytelling, media production, communication, and the likes. You will be paired with a student-athlete participating in this program.”

There were murmurs here and there across the entire room.

Now, I'm starting to understand how I was selected in the first place. They had probably done their research and gone through school records to get students that fit into the initiative.

“Your role,” she said, “will be to observe, engage and document their experiences over the course of this project.”

Interesting. I thought.

“And before anyone asks, yes,” she added smoothly. “This will be filmed.”

That explained the cameras.

“Filmed…how?” someone asked from the front.

“Selected interactions, challenges, and interviews will be recorded,” Vanessa replied. “Nothing will be released without proper review.”

I was starting to feel good about this. Less suspicious or alarmed as I was initially.

“Pairings will be announced shortly,” Vanessa said.

There was slight applause in the hall.

About twenty minutes later, names started being called. One by one.

I barely registered most of them, until…

“Nyla Hart,” the man announcing the names, called out.

My head lifted immediately.

“Please step forward.”

I slowly moved, and I don’t know if I was imagining it, but it felt like everyone was watching me.

Vanessa glanced down at her tablet briefly, then back up at me.

Her expression didn’t change.

“Your assigned partner,” she said. “Is Beck Ryder.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard her.

The name didn’t quite land properly.

There was noise in the room. Whispers and murmurs.

I felt sick instantly.

Of all the people on the damn list, it just had to be him.